


Life Imitating Art

by purkledragon



Category: Weiss Kreuz
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-02
Updated: 2010-01-02
Packaged: 2017-10-05 16:45:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 482
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/43846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/purkledragon/pseuds/purkledragon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The new teachers get acquainted.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Life Imitating Art

He found the new art teacher in the studio that doubled as the supply room for the art class. Already surrounded by a gaggle of giggling school girls, Mr. Kudoh was well within his element. Coughing just loud enough to make himself heard, Aya stepped into the room resisting the urge to laugh as he watched the girls fight with themselves over which of the teachers to swarm.

Making a, to his ears, lame excuse about needing to speak to the other teacher about art history got the girls to leave—art and history teachers might peak their interests, but actual art and history were other stories. No one wanted to stick around for anything that could potentially become homework.

Aya locked the door after the last one was suitably down the hallway, far enough out of range to hear the click and wonder just why they would lock themselves in the room.

"You always seem to have that effect on them. Poor little fangirls frightened away by big bad Mr. Fujimiya."

He watched as Yohji continued working on the clay spinning in front of him and smiled. "And you seem to have learned how to get your hands dirty."

He couldn't miss the sharp glare darted his way, and even if he could, there was no mistaking the way the previously formed pot had become a mound of clay once more. Time to change the subject. Looking around the room at the other works scattered around, Aya had to wonder just when the artist had been born. "When did you start all of this?"

"First time I got my hands dirty..."

"They're nice." Not that he knew anything about it, but he did like them.

"Started as therapy, something to prove not everything I touched was..."

The sound of the clay squelching through clenched hands filled his ears. "Yohji..."

"Save it for someone else, someone who still believes in all that shit." Yohji stood up from the wheel to walk over to the piece Aya stood in front of, "It's all crap. Every last piece of anything I have ever done." Reaching out he wiped his hand across the image, wet clay smearing everywhere he touched.

"Art is not something you marry, it is something you rape. Taking away every last bit of dignity either one of you every had—changing everything with one small stroke. Or slice. Or..." The laughter that followed was hollow and weak, "Life. Art is our life. Or maybe I should say our life is just one big piece of art. Just wish someone had thought about bringing the lube."

Backing up, hitting the wall behind him as Yohji stepped closer he started to realize just how fucked up this really was. How fucked up Yohji had finally become as clay covered hands gripped his jacket desperately.

"And you, Mr. Fujimiya, did you remember the lube?"


End file.
